


lemongrass and sleep

by moonshinelouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Girl Direction, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Love Bites, Pining, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23501191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonshinelouis/pseuds/moonshinelouis
Summary: Louis is a tattoo artist and Harry wants a rose tattoo.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 22
Kudos: 139





	lemongrass and sleep

**Author's Note:**

> title from she by dodie. whole playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7MOwzUoLzk55wws9cgtXyw?si=g7-wR9ShQN-zc0iEQ1Q32A). tumblr post [here](https://moonshinelouis.tumblr.com/post/616779129999835136/lemongrass-and-sleep-by-moonshinelouis-e-5k). many thanks to [emma](https://essercipertuttienonperse.tumblr.com/) for encouraging me to pick this up after months of abandonment and, of course, for being a perfect beta ♡

It’s a slow day at the shop. No one has come in all morning beside those who had a scheduled time, leaving Louis to stare at the store in front as she hasn’t got a book to distract her.

The problem is that looking out at the blooming flowers of the front shop means staring at Harry as she passes flowers to little kids who shyly point at them and exuberant bouquets to starry-eyed strangers. There isn’t an inherent problem with Harry, but looking at her makes Louis want to sneak behind her and surprise her with a kiss and a bouquet hidden behind her back, which she stole just moments prior from the stand. She wants the domestic moments like holding her hand as they walk home from work and smiling at each other as they close their respective shops. She wants to kiss her whenever she likes, in the moments between words and as soon as she wakes up, damn morning breath. 

She exhales slowly and focuses back on her drawing pad, a half-finished rose, drawn to look like from a stained glass window, a design Harry ordered, and she has to put it away. She wonders if Harry will notice that she’s drawn her heart in between the petals, hidden so that it can only be found upon close inspection, a gift for her eyes only. 

Her co-worker Zayn distracts her when she comes in, baggy and ripped jeans falling over her vans, and immediately rolls her eyes. “Are you pining again?” she scolds softly, putting her skateboard in the rack. Then, more gently, “Move, it’s my shift.” She’s the only one Louis has told, the only one she trusts enough to, and though she thinks her situation is pathetic, she’s protective, too. “C’mon, go grab some Mediterranean food or something.”

Louis chuckles, but her smile sinks right back down a second later, unable to stick. “Alright.”

Zayn inhales, and Louis can tell she’s trying not to roll her eyes. “You should really just talk to her. I’ve told you a million times.” 

“And one day I might listen,” Louis smiles, more of an upward grimace, but nonetheless swings out from behind the counter and grabs her jacket to head out for lunch. 

She admires the building as she passes and the small ways people make their home theirs: with potted plants or cat-patterned curtains or actual cats sleeping against the windows or messing with the plants; small children’s handprints on the glass and sticker backs peeling. She passes it every day but every day it changes in some small way or another, and to notice like this, against the sun and heartbreak, is to fill the cracks in her heart slowly, with small pieces of happiness. 

She hears her name cut through the crowd and her daydreams and turns, finding Harry’s pretty curls bouncing as she squeezes through the crowd, flopping to one side when she turns her head sharply to apologise to someone she bumped into, and curl back up after she runs her hand through them when she finally stops in front of Louis, smiling and dimpling and Louis strains not to kiss her then.

“Hey, you going to lunch?” she asks, heaving slightly.

“I was, yeah.”

“Can I come with you?”

“‘Course, babe. You have lunch off today?” She doesn’t usually. Louis adjusts her hand, hanging behind her back and holding her jacket as it’s too warm for it what with the noon sun, and she’s painfully aware that her right hand needs only to move a few centimetres to touch Harry’s, to take it in hers and hold. She puts it in her back pocket instead.

“Yes, for once. I wasn’t gonna, but the new girl said it’d be okay, and I wanted to have lunch at a normal time for once. And I saw you leaving, so I had to run.” She speaks like sunshine, bright and happy and warm, bubbly with excitement, licking her lips as she gestures and bouncing on her heels.

“Had a good day today?” Louis can’t help but smile too, infected by her joy. 

“Yes,” Harry smiles, though that much is obvious. She can’t stop twirling, it seems, but clearly not deliberately; it’s just slight, but everywhere, her flowery skirt blooming with her every step, flowing and bouncing. “Today has been very lovely so far. It’s like I woke up with sunshine in my belly.” Louis laughs, endeared, and she has to bite her cheek to control it a bit. “And this evening will be fabulous too.”

“Oh yeah?”

Harry hums, nodding and biting her lip to contain a smile, though her dimples are still visible. “As soon as the shop is closed,” she says, whispering like it’s a secret, “I’m gonna go to my favourite ice creamery with my best friend.”

“Oh, really?” Louis smiles, shaking her head at Harry, endeared. 

“Yes. And then, she’ll tattoo a beautiful rose on me.” She sighs and puts her hand to her chest, like a little girl dreaming of prince charmings. 

“That sounds like a good day,” Louis beams.

“Oh, it’s a perfect day.”

“What happens after, though?”

“Hmm,” Harry presses her lips, still smiling and eyes still sparkling. “I don’t know. You tell me. What happens after?”

“Well,” Louis looks up as though in thought, as though she doesn’t already know the answer. “I think after, you should order dumplings,” she says seriously, and Harry bubbles in laughter. “And go to her house. Watch a movie, play Scrabble. I don’t know.” She wants to say the last sentence with confidence to tease Harry, but it comes out dry. It sounds like a date. It could so easily be a date.

“That sounds really nice,” Harry says, smiling and sincere. 

Harry’s looking at the street they have to cross, but Louis looks at her profile as she quietly says to herself, “It’s perfect.”

*****

When she comes back from lunch, Louis adds the finishing touches to Harry’s rose design, all the small thorns and the lines across the leaves and stem, and does her best to cover up her bleeding heart in the middle which feeds the entire flower, colouring the petals with cherry red to hide the bruises and the stem with emerald green so that it glows against Harry’s pale skin when she brands her with her art. 

“That looks good, Lou,” Zayn startles her by whispering over her shoulder. 

“What the fuck,” she says, though she’s smiling. “Where did you come from?”

Zayn laughs, low and breathy, and shakes her head. “Been here a while. You were hyper-focused.” 

Louis’ heart is still beating out of control in her chest and she rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath about personal space and whatever else, not genuinely mad. 

“I wanted to tell you it’s almost six-thirty,” Zayn says, leaning, with her arms crossed, against the balcony. “So you should get all set up.”

“Yeah, alright. Thanks, Z.” She gets up from her desk and heads to the tattooing area.

*****

Zayn is long gone by the time Harry knocks gently on the doorframe, smiling shyly. Now that the sun has set, she’s put on a leather jacket full of colourful patches that match her rose-embroidered Doc Martens. 

“Hey, come on in, babe,” Louis says, looking up from another design. 

“Can I see?” Harry says softly before approaching, knowing how Louis is with unfinished projects. 

“Sure. It’s not your rose, though; I’ll go get it.” The one on the table is a cactus with a big canary-yellow flower blooming from the tip.

“I really like this, Lou,” she admires with a wistful sigh. 

Louis blushes, only slightly, used to Harry’s praise but still unsure of how to respond. “Thanks,” she says curtly, though she knows Harry knows she doesn’t mean to be rude. “Here’s yours, love. Let me know if you want to get any changes.”

Harry grins when she looks down, beaming as though seconds away from hugging the paper like it’s a long-lost lover of hers. “I love it so much, Lou, oh my god,” she squeals, running to hug Louis instead of crinkling the paper, and Louis sighs into her neck, taking in her smell of the flowers she tends to all day. 

Instead of kissing her there, where it’ll tickle and she’ll laugh until she sighs and has to bite her lip to keep more in and lean against Louis or else her knees will give – instead of doing that, Louis lets her go. She loosens her grip against her waist and lets her move away, and then turns around – to breathe, to get herself together, to get to work.

*****

It’s easy to be with Harry, as it has always been. They tease and laugh and sing along to Lana Del Rey, and it’s all the exact same way it has been since they met. Except, of course, when Louis asks where she wants the rose tattooed and she pulls off her shirt and points to her chest, right above her heart, right in between her breasts and Louis’ heart clenches. She’s completely fine with being just friends, has to be, but when she has Harry laying pliantly underneath her, eyes going dark and shiny in response to pain, tits sagging and pretty in her bralette, Louis can’t help but wish they were more. 

It’s easier to start a light conversation they can giggle to rather than dealing with her stupid feelings, which is what Louis does. She talks and talks and talks to hide how much she’s not saying, and pretends that hearing Harry’s laugh is enough but it isn’t. She wants to swallow her giggles with kisses, wants to smile against her mouth, wants so very much. She wraps her chest to protect the ink instead.

*****

“Hey,” Louis says into the phone brightly, hand in hand with Harry (which she pointedly does not overthink) as they walk down the street to her car, her jean jacket pulled closed over her chest to protect her against the wind. “Can we have like three sets of the vegetable and mushroom dumplings?” They’re Harry’s favourite. Three is kind of a lot, though, which is probably why Harry pulls on her sleeve and laughs, hiding into the fluffy fur collar of Louis’ jacket to muffle the sound. They look drunk, probably. “Okay, make it only two and throw in those fried vegetable dumplings,” Louis amends, smile tainting her words. 

“Fried tofu!” Harry hisses, throwing her weight on Louis, holding their joint hands to her chest as she leans into Louis, chin locked over her shoulder. “And seaweed salad!” Louis laughs and orders.

They have to wait for a few minutes while their order is getting ready, just outside the restaurant. It’s quiet, with all the noise trapped within the glass walls of the restaurant, and the rest of the one-corridor mall is all closed, with the lights out, the only noise being the quiet music coming from somewhere near them but invisible. It’s soft and calm, like Phoebe Bridgers but too quiet for Louis to tell, and Harry insists on dancing. 

“C’mon, Lou,” she smiles, and Louis wasn’t going to agree, because everyone in the restaurant can see them, but Harry’s dimpling and happy and Louis can’t say no. She takes her hand and Harry twirls her and she laughs, retaliating, and going a step forward and dipping her against her arm, ignoring how tense the air around them gets in the brief moment she glances down at her lips before she catches herself and brings her back up. She twirls her again, just to see her skirt fly into a circle.

The waiter comes out then, carrying their bag and calling out Louis’ surname, saving her yet again from letting stupid words tumble out of her mouth without permission.

*****

Harry insists on carrying the bag on her lap as if car seats haven’t been invented yet and it's her precious newborn. Louis tells her as much, which makes her giggle and dimple.

“And you! Trying to put the food in the trunk like _Matilda!”_ She hugs the bag closer to her chest as if to comfort it from such a horrendous situation.

 _“Matilda_ is probably the reason I’m gay,” Louis sighs.

“Why?” Harry’s nose wrinkles in confused amusement.

“I don’t know. I liked it a lot when I was a kid. It was bound to have long-lasting effects.”

Harry laughs, the kind that shows all her teeth and the crinkles around her eyes, the kind Louis can’t help but join. “You think you just watched a non-romantic, female-lead movie and your brain went, ‘ah! women!’?”

It’s Louis’ turn to laugh so hard her head tips back and she has to cover her mouth with the back of her wrist to keep some of the guffaws in. “Of course. Isn’t that how it goes?”

Harry shakes her head, smile still strong enough for her dimples to show, even though she’s looking out the window. Louis wants to put one hand on her thigh, just so that they’re touching _somewhere,_ but she doesn’t. She keeps both of her hands tight on the steering wheel.

The biggest problem is that she _is_ allowed to touch. To kiss, to touch, all over – but not whenever. Only in the darkness and in private, those are the only places their agreement allows – and the only places Louis allows herself, not wanting to get even more tangled and twisted in Harry’s web than she already is. It’s torturous to know her taste and her soft snores and the way she hugs herself when she sleeps, even when they’re spooning, but it would be more torturous to not know. Louis bottles every moment with Harry and keeps it, knowing one day it will all be over, that one day her heart will break and she won’t even be able to blame Harry, because she’s been clear since day one about her intentions – or lack thereof. 

Louis lets out a broken breath then, just on the edge of crying, but when Harry looks over she smiles and asks something about the food that distracts her easily enough. 

*

 _“13 Going On 30_ is the movie that made _me_ gay,” Harry says once the credits start rolling, dabbing her dumpling in soy sauce and sniffing. 

“Were you even able to watch anything? You were crying the whole time,” Louis smirks.

“Hey!” Harry smiles, dimples, her way. “Only on certain bits.”

“Right.”

“There are happy parts to this movie,” she pouts. “But some deserve tears. Like when they’re on the swings. How can you not cry! So much emotion,” she snuffles again, as though just thinking of the scene gets her teary. “And when he rejects her? But then she goes back and kisses him?”

“Alright, alright,” Louis smiles, fond. “How did a straight movie make you gay, then?” She slips the last of the dumplings in her mouth as soon as she’s done speaking, and loses herself in the flavour so hard that she doesn’t hear Harry. “Sorry, what? The dumpling distracted me.”

Harry smiles and licks her bottom lip in amusement. “How? It’s not crunchy like bread or something. I swear to god, Lou,” she sighs, but she’s still smiling as she shakes her head.

“I lost myself in this party of flavours in my mouth, I am so sorry Your Ladyship,” she says as seriously as she can, one hand to her heart and bowing as much as she can while sitting down and holding a bowl. 

Harry snorts and rolls her eyes, putting her empty bowl away. “Have you seen Jennifer Garner or what?” she retorts, pointing at the screen with her chopsticks before putting them on top of her discarded bowl. 

Louis giggles and nods. She’s right. “Yeah, okay.” Then, “Though I think what solidified it all was Rachel McAdams.”

Harry snorts again, sending a strand of hair flying. “Not even a specific movie? Just,” she spreads her palms in front of her like theatre curtains opening, “Rachel McAdams.” 

“Yes. I watched all the movies she’s starred in during my teenagehood, and now here I am. Lesbian.”

Harry laughs, and Louis wonders if her cheeks are hurting. “Fair.”

“Yeah,” Louis whispers, itching to move her arm from the top of the sofa to Harry’s shoulders, to bring her close to her chest and smell her hair, but she doesn’t. Until, of course, Harry turns to sit sideways on the couch, facing her, and smirks. 

“So,” she begins, looking at her hand, which crawls toward Louis and spreads her hand open to interlace their fingers. “Were you gonna wake up early tomorrow? Or do you have time for me?”

Regardless of having to wake up early the next day or not, Louis always has time for Harry, but she doesn’t say that. She grins instead, to keep a level of cool, and presses Harry’s hand. “I don’t get in till noon tomorrow,” she affirms.

“Good,” Harry says, licking the side of her smirk which doesn’t seem to be specifically for seduction, but which certainly gets Louis going. Harry stands, pulling Louis with her by the hand and nearly skipping to her room, giggly and soft and Louis pretends, for just a split second, that she’s hers.

They rush inside and Harry pulls her by the arm into the room, then pulling her in as she backs against the door to close it, lowering her hands to Louis’ waist as they kiss while Louis cradles her neck and licks into her mouth and bathes in the pretty sighs Harry briefly parts their lips to free, diving back in only a second later. Her hands flutter underneath Louis’ shirt to touch her skin, tugging slightly at the hem instead of voicing her words, but it’s fine. Louis laughs against her mouth, more like hot pants, and slips off her shirt, slipping her hands under Harry’s skirt to grip her thighs and then struggles to break their mouths apart; though eventually the prospect of getting naked overrides anything else and Louis backs away from her mouth with a pretty pop of their lips. 

“What do you want?” Louis pants against her skin as she kisses down her jaw and neck and chest, stopping briefly to admire her design forever imprinted on Harry’s skin, but only pulling her lios away from her burning skin when her knees touch the floor. Harry’s legs are trembling, so Louis holds on to steady them. 

“I don’t–” she gasps brokenly in response to a lovebite Louis plants on her hip then. Louis smirks around her skin, licking at it to soothe the sting. “Ah– anything, please.” 

“Okay,” Louis chuckles, rising from her knees to face Harry and kiss her again, letting her hands fall to her waist to lead her to the bed, where she falls with a soft thud and a smiley exhale, her curls spreading around her head like a dark and curly halo. Louis falls right with her, weight on her elbows around Harry, and kisses her again because these short moments are the only ones she’s allowed to. She kisses down her jaw and behind her ear and Harry sighs, offering her neck and locking her legs around Louis’ to bring her closer, hands latching onto the belt straps of Louis’ shorts and then fluttering to the zipper to tug them off. Louis grins into the crook of her neck and kisses her there, just a brush of her lips, before kissing down her torso and standing up to get her shorts off. 

Harry makes grabby hands at her and she has to laugh, softly and fond. She takes her hands in hers and kisses them – her palms, her fingers, the back of her hands, her wrists. Instead of laying on top of her again, she gets on her knees, still holding her hands, and kisses her thighs when Harry spreads them open with a pretty and broken sigh. Her hands fly out of Louis’ grasp to run her hands through her hair and she sighs, biting her lips raw. 

Louis wishes she could admit she loves her right then, not for the first time, and that Harry would just smile and say she does too and they would giggle and kiss and make love. Instead, she does the next best thing and slips her fingers underneath her panties through the side, by her hips, and kisses her stomach as she pushes them down over her thighs. She’s used to muffling words against her skin and drowning them in Harry’s wetness when they threaten to run from her mouth over her skin and to her heart. They’ve been fucking – as friends – for months. She knows how to stop herself from blurting out all the words she wishes she could say, be it over lunch or with her face between her thighs; she knows exactly where to kiss and how to twist her fingers so that Harry writhes and sighs and runs her hands through Louis’ hair and clenches in desparation. She knows which flowers are her favourite and her favourite foods and favourite smells. She knows, she knows, she knows. 

She buries her face in Harry’s crotch and takes her hands again, as she enjoys feing her clenche them moments before clenching her thighs around her neck. Louis smells her skin and hair, just taking it all in, and lifts her head back up to ask, “Is this what you want–?”, voice drying in her throat before _baby_ slips beside the other words. 

_“Yes,_ please, Lou,” Harry whimpers, biting her bottom lip so hard it whitens and squeezing Louis’ hand with hers. 

Louis smiles. “Okay,” she whispers, and kisses down Harry’s stomach to her crotch. Her thighs are shaking and pliant, but by reflex, she still locks her feet behind Louis’ neck and pushes her face closer to where she desperately needs, and Louis smirks. She knows how to solve this. “Harry,” she says, seriously enough to bring her attention, and looks pointedly at her while she lets go of Harry’s hands to slip her arms under her thighs, her hands locking them against the bed, and Harry lets out a broken sigh and gathers the duvet in her tightened fists instead. 

Louis works slowly on purpose. She licks broadly in between kitten-licks, she sucks on her clit (and has to hold her thighs extra tightly). She teases until Harry’s writhing and begging and covered in a sheen of sweat that makes her skin glisten, but still she continues in her slow pace as Harry tries to fuck herself up into her mouth and move her head with her thighs. 

“Please, please, please, Lou,” she sobs, her thighs at this point shaking so much that Louis has to hold them up as well as down. “Please.”

Louis pulls off and takes her hand back, wanting to feel her cut off her circulation when she squeezes tight and comes, and detangles her other hand from Harry’s legs to slip one, two fingers into her, moving rhythmically until she crushes her hand white and gasps. She drips down Louis’ hand and fist and it’s warm, and it’s love. Or Louis wishes it was. 

She climbs back up to bed to face Harry again and kisses her dumb post-orgasm smile off her face. “Hey,” she whispers, leaning down to leave a mark on Harry’s neck, to see remnants of this the next day instead of pretending it never happened and not talking about it. She wants to press onto the mark tomorrow night and make Harry remember how she moaned the night before – how _Louis_ made her scream and beg and come. But only after the sun sets.

Mouth latched to her collarbone, biting and licking and sucking, and hands to her hips, squeezing and rubbing her thumb up and down and leaving more marks for tomorrow, marks in the shapes of her fingers, leaving the memory of careful love, Harry sighs and gasps beneath her, getting herself worked up again, hands flailing all over Louis’ body without a sense of direction or purpose, simply lost and desperate. 

She starts begging again, for god knows what, pushing Louis’ hips to hers and stretching her neck, facilitating Louis’ access, and Louis can barely chuckle around her skin as a response. Eventually, she mouths up her neck, lazy kisses, and whispers wetly in her ear, “Touch me,” and bites her earlobe, at which Harry whimpers and sneaks her hand between their bodies. Louis, with her hands still pressing Harry’s hips down, imagining the marks her fingertips will leave, gasps around Harry’s mouth and circles her hips over her fingers working meticulously, fucking herself on her fingers. She comes over Harry’s thighs and she hopes her smell taints her skin though she knows it won’t as she cleans it off with a flannel, dabbing it softly over her skin. Harry’s eyes are still droopy and glossy and her curls are sweaty and all over the pillow, and Louis hopes her smell will stick to her pillowcase so she can pretend it’s her she’s cuddling when she wakes up hugging the same pillow, though she knows one day that will stop. She risks another kiss to where she’s just cleaned, though that crosses the line they’ve drawn to some level. But damn it, when they’ve just come from each other’s fingers and cuddle to sleep and wake up with soft kisses and morning sex, she deserves a chaste kiss to where the smell of her come still lingers. She deserves to smell her curls, mushed to her face while she falls asleep, sleep-sweaty and soft and smelling like the purest form of Harry. 

*****

She wakes up not to Harry’s curls but to her neck. They’re hugging each other like koalas, Louis with her face buried in her neck, hands around her waist, and legs entwined underneath the sheets, ankles locked. It’s soft and domestic and it aches. Louis glances at the alarm clock over Harry’s shoulder and sighs, digging her face deeper into Harry’s shoulder, hugging her tighter, and falls asleep again, hoping everything won’t come crashing down on her. 

She wakes up again when Harry shifts. She opens one eye, leaving the other mushed against the pillow and smiles. “Hi,” she says, and burrows her face under the sheets to hide from the sunlight sneaking through the curtains. 

“Hello,” Harry breathes back, and Louis can hear the sleepy smile in her voice. 

Louis briefly considers leaning in to kiss her, eyes closed and breaths smelling like dead animals, but in the morning, the lines are blurry. 

“We have two hours,” Harry says, voice croaky from disuse. 

“Hm?” 

“Before you have to get to work,” Harry snickers.

“Ah. And what do you want to do?” It’s an absolutely innocent question, she swears; she isn’t even thinking, just battling the dreams that threaten to swallow her back to sleep any second. 

Harry giggles and pushes her shoulder playfully so she falls on her back. “No!” she laughs. “Get your head out of the gutter.”

Louis laughs, eyes still closed. “I wasn’t even thinking about that! You made it dirty.”

“You totally did. Your voice was all raspy and sexy,” she pouts. Louis opens her eyes just to see it, knowing she’d do it.

“That’s not my fault!” Louis chuckles, ignoring the compliment for now. “That’s just my morning voice. Yours is really hoarse too.”

“Whatever,” she smiles. “What do you want to do?”

“Hm. Breakfast?” What she wants is to trace Harry’s entire body with her fingertip until she’s trembling and blabbering and then eat her out for breakfast. But pancakes will have to do. 

“Let’s get dressed then,” she replies, whipping the duvet from them and letting the sharp air run over them.

“Ah! Harry!” Louis yelps, but she’s smiling. “God, my nipples are all shrivelled up now,” she mourns as she cups them to warm them up. 

Harry just laughs. “C’mon, Lou.”

*****

With Harry, it’s always soft, sneaky touches and lingering looks, cheek-biting to keep words in and constant smiles, but Louis makes it through breakfast without blurting out _I love you, I want to kiss you all the time_ just as she makes it through each day: slow and dragged and hushed, keeping most words to herself. 

She makes it through another day of waving at Harry when they see each other from their respective shops across the street as if those very fingers weren’t inside each other just hours prior and of rolling her eyes at Zayn for making snarky comments and telling her to talk to Harry. She makes it through just like every other day of her life. 

She makes it through just fine until Harry knocks on her door unprompted that night as well and skirts around the reason why until Louis pulls her into her flat. She doesn’t need a reason to come over. 

Harry’s quiet tonight as they watch _Notting Hill,_ missing her usual comments and conversations that they have to pause the movie to properly discuss. She doesn’t ask for popcorn, but Louis pops a pack anyway. It’s disconcerting, and by the time the credits are rolling, she hasn’t shed one tear.

“Haz?” Louis whispers, swinging her arm over her shoulder to get to the remote and flicker the telly off, so that only moonlight washes over them. “Are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah. Yeah, of course. My mind’s just… elsewhere, I guess.” 

Louis nods slowly. “Do you want to talk about it? What’s bothering you, love?”

Harry smiles briefly as she tucks a curl behind her ear, but it doesn’t last. “Nothing important, don’t worry.”

“Well, it’s bothering you. You didn’t even pay attention to one of your favourite movies. If you don’t think it’s important, I do, and I wanna hear about it. What’s wrong?”

“It’s truly nothing major, Lou. Don’t worry,” she says, forcing on a smile that lasts until Louis looks away. Louis sighs. She’ll open up when she feels ready. 

It’s all she can think about for the rest of the night, though. Something is bothering Harry, and she doesn’t know what it is. She can only think of a girlhood law, swirling around her mind as she tries to find other ways to get Harry to open up, swirling closer and closer, each time less diaphanous and more solid as she finds no other option. She doesn’t hide anything from Harry, is the problem – except her biggest secret. But she can pass it up as nighttime. She can pass it up as the wine from earlier speaking. 

She just says it, dripping slowly from her mouth like honey and sticking everywhere, impossible to overlook it. “Can I kiss you?”

And Harry replies with a sigh of lemongrass tea, warm and sweet and breathless, her big eyes shining emerald under the moonlight. “Yes.”

Louis didn’t expect such a quick, unhurried answer. “Why?”

Harry looks down at her mug, licking her lips and curls falling over her face so she has to put them behind her ear. It’s the first time she’s smiled for real all evening, but she whispers her answer. “Because I love you, Lou.”

It’s absolutely the wrong thing to say, but Louis just parrots, “Why?”

It makes Harry laugh again. “Because you’re you,” she shrugs. 

“I… Haz, I love you too,” she finally gets the sense to say. “I just…”

“Are you going to kiss me?” she asks, big eyes blinking twice. “Or was that a hypothetical question?”

“No,” Louis breathes, inching closer, but she doesn’t kiss her. “It wasn’t.” She swallows. “But I…” 

Harry cuts her off with her lips, just lips, no tongue. She’s her home. But as soon as they part, the questions are still on her lips, still on the verge of spilling. “But what was wrong before?” 

Harry plays with Louis’ swallow necklace, a simple silver handmade chain constantly around her neck. “Just… someone asked me out. And I didn’t want to go. I wanted you.”

Louis can’t help but smirk, but shyly, looking down at her feet. “Yeah?”

Harry smiles back, and this close, Louis can see that her cheeks are flushed. “Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://moonshinelouis.tumblr.com/post/616779129999835136/lemongrass-and-sleep-by-moonshinelouis-e-5k). kudos and comments and reblogs much appreciated!


End file.
